Tilting… first this way and then the other…
I Centre with a Focused Shudder…
then EXPLODE into forward motion.
Out of range sirens lullaby…
owl-less boughs and charcoal skies
fermenting in mishap and mischief.
I have become a ricocheting Eccchhhooo…
pinballing neon midnight city streets.
She is a homeless jigsaw puzzle piece,
stroking a stray tom cat
upon the Harbour kerbside,
pretty enough, in her own way.
Yet, I have no time nor inclination
to confuse my zigzag
with complicated consideration…
the price, besides being too hiGH,
Each swift beer becomes a raMP,
you fluid-shuffle the heaving crowds,
melting around doorways
and always finding your feet
two steps before Landing.
I’d touch you but it would hurt both of us
and I am always merely visiting
Filling the spaces with chaotic fists
and abstract, weaving fingers.
They have positioned The Graveyard
in the wrong place…
it is in the way of both Hillside and Ocean.